James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.
VII
It is sufficient to estimate the enemy situation correctly and to concentrate your energy to capture him. There is no more to it than this. – Sun Tzu, The Art of War.
Max walked along the rain-slicked roof of the old warehouse slowly, allowing the thumping of the bass from inside to leak into her soul. The music from the rave down below was intense, and as she focused on it, she became more on edge with every passing second. She ran through the plan again, once more questioning her judgement in undertaking such a public display. Roughing up street level dealers in an alley was one thing, but breaking up a rave to get at some of her informants was something else entirely. Unfortunately, though, Dave and Tex had left her little choice. They must have had an uncomfortable bout of conscience, she decided. She doubted that either of her informants had expected her to go to Cameron Dean's lab and kill more than half of the people in the place.
Well, what did they think was gonna happen? she wondered. Both of the small-time hoods had kept to wide open areas since their last conversation with Max, and since the attack on the warehouse the night before, both Dave and Tex had made certain they were always surrounded by plenty of people. In addition, they were always looking over their shoulders. They know I'll be coming to have another chat with them. I'll bet they never expected I would do something like this.
Walking over to the skylight, Max looked down into the chaotic fray below. Blacklights and strobe lights provided most of the illumination, with a couple of dim standard lights set up by the bar. People below were dancing and bouncing around to the beat of the music, some of them forming small would-be mosh pits in two of the far corners. The attendees to this particular rave seemed to vary in age from thirteen to thirty, and Max noted immediately that even from her position it was obvious that many of the older people below were armed. They're probably hired security of some kind, she decided. Or they could be muscle hired by the dealers that were supplying the all too sought after drugs.
One deep breath to steel her resolve was all Max needed, and she then went to work setting up a small charge in the center of the pane of glass. Once that was done, she took a few steps away to a safe distance, and then pushed the remote detonator. The pop of the explosion was muffled by the suddenly intense bass beat that escaped into the open night air. Seconds later screams started to also erupt from below. Without a second's hesitation, Max pulled her hood up tightly over her head and leapt through the shattered skylight, falling twenty feet onto the shoulders of one of the armed guards.
To her surprise, many of the guards reacted far more quickly than she had expected. They were still too slow to keep up with her genetically enhanced reflexes, though. Max worked through the crowd like a whirling dervish, incapacitating one guard after another and shoving young ravers out of her way with ease. She had been inside for almost a minute when she saw Dave and Tex finally catch sight of her and realize what was happening. They immediately began pushing through the increasingly panicked crowd trying to escape through the doors. The music continued to blast and the strobe lights continued to flash, helping to disorient anyone that still tried to stand in Justice's way. Out of the corner of her eye, Max caught sight of a teen wearing a black baseball cap with a bright silver 'X' embroidered on it. Figuring he was one of the dealers, she stopped just long enough to shatter his jaw and nose, sending him crumpling to the floor. Then she moved on.
Dave and Tex had almost escaped into the night when Max grabbed them both by the scruff of the neck and pulled them back inside. By that point many of the people had already fled, leaving Justice alone with her informants.
"Where is he?" Max shouted over the music. Both Tex and Dave looked at her with baffled expressions, and she put her face right up to theirs. "Where is he?" she repeated.
"Who?" Tex asked. Max's only response was to grab his forearm in both hands and snap it. The criminal immediately wailed in agony, and Dave's face went several shades paler as Max turned a vicious stare on him.
"I'm short on patience tonight," she hissed. "Tell me where Cameron Dean is, and I'll let you walk out of here right now. If you don't, well....."
"He's still in the same place," Dave shouted in reply. "I already told you where he lives."
"I went by there, and the place was deserted," Max shot back. "I don't like being jerked around." She noticed that Tex had regained a modicum of composure as he sat against the wall, holding his broken arm with his other hand. Max kicked his arm for good measure, causing him to shriek in response. Within moments, he had passed out from the pain.
"He's there, I swear," Dave answered. "He's in the basement."
"The basement?" Max growled. "You didn't say anything about a basement."
"He just moved downstairs two nights ago," Dave said quickly. "Apparently he's becoming concerned about some vigilante taking him out. Go fig."
"Oh really?" Max asked, fairly satisfied that her reputation was getting out. "So what can you tell me about the place?"
"Not much," Dave whimpered, cradling his knees in a tight hug as he cast a terrified look at his interrogator. "I know it's got traps, and his best guards are in there. I heard he's hoping you'll come after him. He had Special Forces guys set up his defenses. It's supposed to be impregnable to a single attacker. They say you'd need an entire platoon to go in there and get him out."
"I seriously doubt that," Max muttered, her voice suddenly booming in the room as the music cut off. "Take my advice, Dave, and leave town for awhile. I don't think you want me to set my eyes on you again anytime soon."
"Uh, sure," Dave replied as he slowly stood. He looked down at his unconscious friend, and then back at Max.
"You should probably get him to a hospital," she advised. "It'll be hard enough to set that arm properly even if a professional is doing the job. He'll never be able to use it right again if he tries to get one of those street docs to do the job for him."
"Yeah, sure," Dave answered.
Max's ears perked up as she heard the fast-approaching sound of police sirens, and she immediately bolted toward the exit. She knew she would easily elude the authorities, which meant she would certainly have the chance to prepare to hit Cameron Dean's home. She would wait until the next night, and then eliminate him and his people all at once.
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Max walked into her spacious apartment and picked up her beeper from its place on the coffee table. Logan had called again. And again. And again. Seven calls, all within the past three hours. Max wondered what could possibly be so important. He probably needs me to do a job for him, she decided. It's just gonna have to wait.
Max still hated putting off Logan as much as she ever had, perhaps even more now that she had taken up the role of vigilante. Part of her felt very strongly that they were kindred spirits, each one undertaking the Herculean task of making the world a better place. It was a tough job, but Max had decided that somebody had to do it. If not me, then who?
She slipped out of her heavy black cloak and stripped off her tunic, enjoying the feeling of the cool air that passed over her bare arms and shoulders and breathed in through her light tank-top. She liked how the billowing, all-black ensemble helped make her seem larger and more intimidating to her prey, but as spring began to settle in more firmly and the nights became warmer, it slowly became more uncomfortable to wear several layers of clothes. Maybe I should have been like Batman and just stuck to a simple cape, she mused. Or maybe I could just switch to wearing a black t-shirt with a skull on it. The thought brought a smile to her face. She was actually living the life of a comic-book hero, and brought as much fear of retribution into the hearts of real people as Batman ever had into the hearts of his fictional foes.
She walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a chilled bottle of strawberry Yoo-hoo, smiling once again when she remembered Logan introducing her to the drink. She had been skeptical when Logan had told her that Yoo-hoo, which tasted eerily similar to strawberry milk, somehow had a shelf life of about five hundred years. Then again, if modern science could create a trans-genetically-engineered super soldier, then why not also make 'milk' that could last years at room temperature without going bad.
As she chugged her drink she picked up her stereo's remote and switched on the cd player, allowing the machine to randomly select a song to play. Logan had made all of the discs for her, and she knew the music would be far more mellow than the intense rave tunes that still pounded in her head. A grin spread across her lips as England Dan and John Ford Coley's "I'd Really Love to See You Tonight" started playing softly. Yep, that's certainly different than the other stuff, Max thought.
She sat on the plush couch and slipped out of her tobi boots, taking a moment to look at the traces of red nail polish that had all but disappeared from her toenails. I guess I've been letting the little things go while I've been working, she pondered. She walked into the bedroom and picked up a bottle of nail polish remover and lime colored nail polish, deciding she wanted a silly color for a change. I can't be a bad-ass vigilante all the time, she decided, reversing the decision she had made after leaving Crash. Original Cindy had started to get Max to pay attention to the little things – the details – and now Max found herself as wrapped up in getting her nails done right as much as any other woman her age. Damn, Original Cindy, Max thought, suddenly remembering the unpleasant chain of events at Crash. I'll have to call and apologize to her. I should also call Logan.
Without waiting at all to talk to her friend, she picked up the phone and dialed Logan's number. "Max," he said immediately, his voice bringing a smile to her face despite his surprisingly serious tone. "Where have you been?"
"Out and about," Max said evasively, noticing that Logan's voice contained not only the normal curiosity, but also a tinge of concern. He's probably still worried that I'll run into Justice or something, she decided.
"And what are you doing now?" he asked.
"I'm painting my nails," she said with a smile. "I think I'm gonna go with lime green, but that might be a little obnoxious. Do you think red would be better?"
"No, the green is fine," Logan said. Max could tell her friend was smiling. "What are you listening to?" he asked.
"One of those discs you gave me," Max replied. "Right now it's that "Time in a Bottle" song. You know, you were right, this old music isn't half-bad sometimes. I really think it could use a little mixing though, maybe throw in some bass or something, but mellow is good once in awhile."
"Yeah," Logan agreed. "Look, do you want to come over or something?"
"Ah, no, I don't think so," Max said as apologetically as she could. "I'm sorta tired."
"You're going to sleep?" Logan asked.
"I didn't say that," Max responded with a smile. "I only said I was tired. There's a big difference."
"Of course," Logan said.
"So what do you need?" Max asked.
"Oh, nothing, really," Logan answered.
"You called seven times tonight, and you don't need anything?"
"I just wanted to hear your voice," Logan answered. "I wanted to know you were doing alright." A warm wave of something washed over Max, and she wondered at the sensation. It was not something she felt often, though she knew she should have come to expect it from Logan. He always made her feel special, and she adored how he truly cared about her.
"I'm doing just fine," she assured him. "How about you?"
"Well, I've been busy lately," he said. "Doing lots of research."
"You need any help?" Max offered. "I should have some free time in a couple of days."
"No," Logan said evenly. "This is something I have to look into on my own." A moment of silence followed, and Max knew that Logan was debating whether or not to ask her something. "Would you like to come over for dinner sometime?"
"When?"
"Day after tomorrow?" Logan suggested. "I'll need until then to get the ingredients together."
"Ooh, something special?" Max asked, leaning back and smiling as "Dust in the Wind" started playing. "I can hardly wait."
"So you're coming?"
"Absolutely," Max replied. "I wouldn't miss it."
"Great," Logan said. He was smiling again. "That'll give us a chance to talk," he added, and Max knew that with those words, the smile had vanished. Something was bothering Logan, and he didn't want to talk about it on the phone. Max hated the thought that her closest friend was keeping secrets from her. Oh, but it's ok for you to keep secrets from him? a voice asked from the back of her mind, calling her to task for her hypocrisy.
"I can't wait to see you," she said, and then hung up the phone. Sitting alone, listening to the Beatles singing about Yesterday, Max suddenly began to realize, for the first time, just how much her life had changed recently. She didn't particularly mind the violence in which she was involved, but she greatly missed the friendships she had had. She knew that if she continued down this road, that her life would alter even more. Eventually, things would never be the same, and she would end up alone. For the first time, she began to wonder if that kind of a price was worth paying.
To be continued.............................